


Cradle to the Grave

by Owenjones



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, The Graveyard Book - Neil Gaiman
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley are Bod's parents, Crossover, Crowley Loves Kids (Good Omens), Demons, Ghosts, Ineffable Dads, Kid Fic, M/M, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-09-26 04:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20383912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owenjones/pseuds/Owenjones
Summary: It should have gone according to plan, the child was to be sacrificed for Hell that night.But, like a night over eleven years earlier taught us, great plans and the forces of darkness could do nothing to counter humanity’s natural entropic force.Aziraphale and Crowley save a baby from a demon and realize that they are the only ones who could keep him safe. The two of them have all the powers that come with being an angel and a demon, and they’d averted Armageddon together, how hard could parenthood be?





	1. The Monsters in the Dark

The night was darker than one would expect. Clouds had obscured any light coming from the moon or the stars. Even the streetlights couldn’t muster up the strength to fight against the blanket of darkness over the whole town. Not a soul stirred when a being of occult nature lurked around the suburbs. It was a restless lurk, twitchy. Hungry. 

It stopped in front of one house and could feel the warm bodies fast asleep. It’s mouth watered at the soft sound of heartbeats and the rush of blood through every vein. The supernatural void that could be considered its stomach growled. 

Locks were no barrier to it, and the door opened with simply a thought. It made its way inside to devour the family. With only a small sound, a man and a woman were whittled down to a few pieces of scattered bones. The meal was gratifying, certainly, but it wasn’t totally satisfied, not yet. They were just the appetiser. 

When it made its way down to the child’s bedroom, ready for the main course, it found an empty crib and no child. To its dismay, the child wasn’t anywhere in the house. It should have gone according to plan, they were to be sacrificed for Hell that night. 

But, like a night over eleven years earlier taught us, great plans and the forces of darkness could do nothing to counter humanity’s natural entropic force. The sound of the demon bumbling around the house had stirred the child from sleep, and it climbed out of its crib. Curiosity drew it to the front door, that had been carelessly left open. The golden-haired male baby was soon crawling out onto the street. 

The demon quickly picked up the boy’s scent and followed down to the graveyard a block away. What functioned as its corporeal heart was pattering away as its hunting instinct began to take over, and it stopped focusing on anything but following the trail. It turned the corner and nearly spun into another occultly creature in dark sunglasses. 

“Woah, there.” He said, “Moloch? Is that you?”

“Crawly. The traitor.” It snarled and tried to shove past him but Crowley got in its way, in a manner that he fancied as slick and nonchalant. 

“I thought I sensed something Hell-y out here tonight.”

“You will not interfere with our Lord’s plans again.” 

“As I recall, I was to be left alone. Now, I don’t know what you are doing in my neighborhood, but if you don’t leave, I will be forced to--”

It tensed up with a little bit of fear at the demon who it had witnessed bathing in holy water, splashing around like it was nothing, “I will take my leave.” And the thing’s corporeal form spontaneously combusted, returning the being back to where it came from. 

Crowley felt intensely relieved the second it was gone. He had been bluffing, of course. Moloch was much more powerful than himself, practically Satan’s second-in-command, and a fight between them would not end well for Crowley in any capacity. But that was a good sign: Hell was still scared of him. 

A baby’s cry interrupted his thoughts. He turned and saw a cold little toddler crawling around in the muck of the graveyard, grumpy at the state of its pajamas. Crowley nervously stepped over the fence. He bit his lip to stop himself from crying out at the pain that came from stepping on consecrated ground. He scooped up the child and got back out on the street as quickly as possible. The soles of his feet sizzled slightly as he rocked the toddler into a nice sleep. He wondered, whose kid was this? There was no one in the graveyard. No one in the street. This baby must have been what Moloch was after, Crowley decided. It was the demon of child sacrifice, after all; one of the demons who made even his skin crawl. 

He had smelt a whiff of blood on Moloch which lingered even after it had left. Crowley held the baby close and walked down the street. Some kind of unnerving force drew him to the little brick house on the street where he found the open door, the empty nursery, and the remains of the parents. And it all came together. 

“Oh no. Oh, you poor thing,” he whispered.

He raced back to his cottage, baby in his arms.


	2. Go Off Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little flashback

The South Downs cottage had been Crowley’s idea. Life had settled down to a crawl after the end of the world, and he began to have the time to process everything that had happened. He was haunted by his memories, which put him at unease in both his Mayfair flat and Aziraphale’s bookshop. Despite Adam’s perfect restorations, he would always smell a little bit of smoke in the couch cushions at the back of the shop. And he would always know the spot where Ligur had died would be there, underneath all the miracles covering it up. 

Just like he had done after the Flood and with the Spanish inquisition and all the other events that really started to get under his skin, he decided he had to move on.

He proposed the idea to Aziraphale over drinks one day, “I’ve been thinking…”

“Thinking about what, my dear?”

“Getting out of here.” Crowley hiccuped, “Out of London, I mean. Sick of it.”

“Why ever so?”

“Don’t you ever feel, I dunno, tired of the same-old things?”

“Oh, you know me. I like my routines.”

“Yeah, but - I mean, maybe I’d like to go somewhere else,” he looked up at Aziraphale, who refused eye contact.

“Where were you thinking of going?” He asked, feigning innocent curiosity.

“Dunno yet. Somewhere quiet. You know, where I can forget about all this apocalypse stuff.”

_When I’m off in the stars, I won’t even think about you._ “Forget…Yes. I understand.” 

“You do? That’s great then. We should discuss this more--”

“No need. I - erm - I have some work I ought to be getting on with. Bookshop things, of course. Taxes.”

“Right, I’ll be off,” Crowley said, always picking up when Aziraphale was gently kicking him out, “Speak to you later then?” 

“I suppose,” Aziraphale responded, tidying up their empty glasses. 

Crowley left with a warm glow in his chest, Aziraphale was left with rather the opposite. One spent the night digging through google listings of homes of all sizes, and in all places. The other came up with a list of possible reasons why Crowley would want to forget about him and fretted about it all night long. 

Crowley hadn’t spent much time on the seaside. The last time he had been was during his time nannying for little Warlock. The Dowling’s had brought him along for a week-long trip to a beach resort. Crowley found he rather enjoyed it. Never had to justify wearing sunglasses, for one thing. And he just loved sunbathing. 

That was why his mind settled on the cottage in South Downs. It met in the middle in all sorts of ways. Technically it was in the countryside, but it was hardly in the middle of nowhere. It was rather close to the seaside and to a town. A lovely garden out back, and enough space for a library. A fully-working kitchen, which he intended to put to good use when learning to cook the human way for Aziraphale. 

The house was a little antiquated for Crowley, but he suspected Aziraphale would go for the whole thatched-roof and wooden shutters look. He could live with it, especially if it brought Aziraphale joy. Anyway, he would make sure the interior wasn’t entirely stuffy (though he would accept a certain level of stuffiness). 

Aziraphale practically paced a divot in his floor by the time Crowley gave him a call. When he picked up the phone, Aziraphale put on his official business voice, “I’m afraid we’re closed for the time being-”

“It’s me. Listen, I’ve put some thought into what we talked about.”

“Oh really.” Aziraphale said, not mentioning that he hadn’t stopped thinking about it since Crowley left, “Any further thoughts?”

“I think I’ve found a place. I’d like to run it by you,”

“Crowley… I think I’d like to know where this is all coming from.”

“You know me. I like changing things up from time-to-time.”

Everything in Aziraphale’s instinct was telling him to hang up, but he spoke anyway, “Why don’t you come over. Let’s chat about this.”

Crowley was soon over at the shop, carrying with him printed screenshots of the cottage, which he knew Aziraphale would prefer over an electronic presentation. He even brought along a bottle of champagne. 

He walked into the shop feeling rather pleased with himself, until he sensed the distress emanating from the back room, “Aziraphale?”

The angel emerged from his little office, plastering a fake smile on his face, “Yes, dear-- Er, yes, Crowley?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing at all,” he fidgeted, “I just wanted to know why you feel this inclination to leave so suddenly. I had thought that things would be different from now on.”

“Things _are_ different now. Can’t you see, Angel?” 

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes closed, and all that had been bouncing around his head just came out “I know I’m not the most interesting to look at. I know I’m fussy and particular and stubborn. And I know I can’t keep up with the pace you want.” _You go too fast for me._ “I know I’m not good enough, but I don’t see why you-”

“Woah, hey. Where’s this coming from?”

“You wanting to, you know, bugger off.”

Crowley suddenly realized, “Aziraphale,” he spoke gently, “you do know I had no intention of buggering off without you, right?”

“But you were going to leave…”

“Yes, and I had planned - well, I had hoped that you would join me.” 

Aziraphale stared for a moment, his aura positively shimmering with hope, before the anxiety and shame crept back into place, “I-I can’t. I’ve got the bookshop to take care of.”

“You don’t need to take care of the shop anymore. You were assigned to be here by Heaven, but now you don’t work for them anymore. You can go anywhere you like.”

Aziraphale wiggled uncomfortably in his seat, not arguing against it, but not accepting the invitation either. 

“Think about it. We’re retired now, aren’t we? I mean, in the closest way we can be.” He took Aziraphale’s hand, “So let’s go off and live by the seaside like retired humans do.” 

“Retired…” Aziraphale conceded a smile, “I do like the sound of that.”


	3. How Nobody Became Nobody

Aziraphale never slept, as a rule, but he relaxed with a book most nights, especially since their sort-of-retirement. So he was awake when Crowley entered the house. He did so carefully, so as to not disturb the baby’s sleep. 

“Anything out there, my dear?” Aziraphale called from his study. When Crowley didn’t respond, he put down his book and made his way over to the sitting room, “Crowley?”

Crowley hushed him. He was standing next to the open front door, looking rather pale and shaken up, clutching a sleeping child.

“What is - who is that?” Aziraphale whispered harshly, “What’s going on, my dear?”

Crowley took a moment before he responded, “Its… its parents were killed by a demon. C-clever little thing managed to escape.”

Aziraphale approached, shut and locked the door behind Crowley, before posing a question, “Escaped a demon?”

“Escaped Moloch.” 

Aziraphale covered his mouth in shock. He knew what that particular entity was capable of, “W-what are we going to do?”

“What _can_ we do? I managed to scare it away, for now at least. But it’ll be back soon enough.”

“Erm, we can put the child into care. Find a family far away -”

“Any old human family won’t be able to protect it from a demon. It’s too powerful. No matter where they were, it’d find them. We’d just be dooming them to the same fate as this child’s family…” Crowley shot Aziraphale a pleading look.

“We can’t.” Aziraphale responded, “We’re not capable, I mean -”

“We raised Warlock, didn’t we?” Crowley asked, a touch wearily, “There’s nothing else that can be done. It’s either that, or else it’ll die.” 

Aziraphale nodded and brought Crowley further into the house, allowing him to sit down, “I suppose you’re right.”

He gently took the child in his own arms: the child who had no one else in the universe to care for it. Miracled a few blankets around it. All his doubts just disappeared, replaced instead by his everlasting love for every one of God’s creatures. Like every human baby, it was just perfect. The child had lovely little toesie-wosies, and little wispy blond hair, and the cutest little snore. Aziraphale wondered if maybe this had all been planned by God; he wouldn’t put it past Her. 

Besides, was there ever a human who was totally prepared for parenthood? And they managed just fine, for the most part. He looked back at his partner who was already fast asleep on the couch, exhausted from the night. The two of them had all the powers that came with being an angel and a demon, and they’d averted Armageddon together, how hard could parenthood be?

As he regarded the sleeping child, Aziraphale’s mind began to wander back, back to the moment that brought them here. It was the moment that they stopped the end of the world. After the night spent together at Crowley’s flat, the two found themselves inseparable. 

Left without duties, without fear of destruction from either side, they had finally achieved the freedom that neither of them had even dared to imagine was possible. They no longer had to push an agenda, meddle in the lives of humans, justify any action they took. It took them a while to fully comprehend this reality. 

In the weeks that followed the almost-end of the world, they continued as if everything was normal. They fell into their routine of tipsy conversations, Crowley attempting to ask a million questions on the theological implications of their current continued existence, and Aziraphale attempting to answer these questions with the polite prattle he usually did. It was all too easy to feel as if things were the same as before. Aziraphale, for one thing, often spread blessings without even realizing it. And when Crowley wasn’t thinking, he still found himself purchasing superglue for all kinds of demonic tricks (i.e. gluing coins to the sidewalk). Both of them automatically made excuses to spend time together, getting their reasoning straight for paperwork that no longer had to be filed.

It took a while to break a 6000-year-old habit, after all. 

But one day, in the back of the bookshop, they broke that habit. Crowley browsed his phone on Aziraphale’s couch, resting his legs on the angel’s lap, and they just enjoyed the moment. 

“Angel?” Crowley called out, “Hey.”

Aziraphale peered amusedly over his book, “Hello, my dear.” 

“I like this.”

They hadn’t yet spoken about what ‘this’ was. How could one put words to it? 

“I like this too,” he placed a hand on Crowley’s knee. And with the touch their situation, their ‘this,’ became much more concrete. Their own side. They would stick together through anything that came their way. 

***

Crowley slept a deep sleep on the couch and dreamt of whispers, _”Love and care for our orphan child. Please, protect him from harm.” The voices were not female nor male. They were neither from his mind nor from an external source. They just were._

_“I don’t know if I can,” He responded, “You know what I am? I’m a demon, I’m not made to be a parent.”_

_“Please, promise us. Promise you’ll protect him. You’re the only one that can.” The two voices intertwined and called out, growing louder. Nothing left of the people they once were except fear and desperation, needing to ensure their son was safe before passing on._

_“I promise.” And he felt a wave of gratitude wash over him. _

The sound of a cry snapped him awake. Aziraphale was pacing around the sitting room, frantically bouncing the baby, cooing at him, trying and failing to soothe. He looked desperately at Crowley, “I don’t know what to do. He was so good for the whole night, but now -”

“Give ‘em to me,” Crowley mumbled, holding his arms out. He took the kid and miracled a bottle of formula into his hand, and the child quickly settled down, “He’s just hungry.”

“Yes, hungry. Of course.” Aziraphale breathed a nervous sigh, “Dear God, I don’t think I can do this.”

“Shhh,” Crowley swayed the child slightly, “You’re fine, my angel. Everything’s fine.”

Aziraphale looked like he might cry, “How can you be so calm?” 

“I had a very nice nap. His parents just spoke to me,” he shushed Aziraphale’s protests, “they want us to care for him.”

“His parents…”

“Are dead, I know. They willed themselves to stick around - unfinished business.” He stood, and rested his forehead on Aziraphale’s, cradling the child between them, “I made them a promise.”

“Are you sure, my dear? Are you absolutely sure?”

“I am. Will you join me in being his father?”

“I will join you anywhere, to the ends of the earth and beyond if need be. You know that. But I don’t know if I can -”

“I made a promise to his parents, and I’d be blessed if I don’t keep my promises,” Crowley smiled, “I can’t do this without you.”

Aziraphale bit his lip, “What if the demon returns?”

“We’ll just have to get ready for that, then.”

Crowley explained his plan to Aziraphale. Making suspicion slide off yourself (like water off a duck) was rather simple; both of them had done it many times before. However, making suspicion slide off others was a much more difficult process. This was the process Satan had done to Adam before he left hell and was surreptitiously swapped to the entirely wrong family. The point is, Satan himself had done it. He had done it quite easily in fact, which would have been very, very nearly impossible for any supernatural being with any less power than him. 

But, very nearly impossible was still slightly possible.

“Are you sure about this, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, “He’ll be nobody.”

“He’ll be dead if we don’t.”

Crowley and Aziraphale locked hands and concentrated their powers together. And with their combined thoughts, the boy became Nobody. Their little Nobody. The cloaking wasn’t perfect. If they used physical tools to do it, Satan would have had a whole arsenal of power drills, while they would have been working with the equivalent of a paperclip and some string. It would have to do, though. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be noticed by either upstairs or downstairs, and he could be safe from any occult or ethereal meddling. He became Nobody Fell-Crowley, or Bod for short.  



	4. It Was the Best of Times

It was a new day, the first day of a new life. And the first thing either of them did was collapse in exhaustion from the force of the miracle. The second thing they did was rearrange the cottage. Crowley saw danger in every table corner and potentially easily-broken window, and tried to make everything as safe as he could. While at the same time, Aziraphale miracled up all the furniture necessary: cribs with tartan blankets, high chairs, toy chests. 

Bod was enjoying his new house. He blinked his storm-cloud grey eyes, staring intently as things popped into and out of existence, and the two warm figures bustled around, bickering about every such thing. He started to feel a little left out of the fun, and he gave out a sharp cry. 

Crowley immediately came to his aid, lifting him high in the air, and looking at him in the eyes. Bod immediately giggled at the attention he was getting. Crowley looked at him closely and tried to decipher his needs. Bod found himself fascinated by the snake eyes, and tried to reach out to them, “What do you want, then?”

Bod babbled something in return.

“Aziraphale? I’m going to pop out for a bit. I think he wants a little fresh air.”

“Is that wise?” Aziraphale called from the newly-made nursery, “What if the demon is still out there?”

“He’s protected now. Should be, anyway. We’ll just be out in the garden.”

Aziraphale looked out the window and spotted the two of them babbling to each other. The scene warmed his heart. Crowley pointing out the names to all the plants he had grown, and Bod’s face completely lighting up when Crowley spoke. If he wasn’t a baby, it would seem like the two of them were having a lively conversation, not one where one side was just nonsense noises. But despite that, Crowley seemed to have a perfect understanding of what Bod was saying, what he wanted when he pointed or reached out to something. Aziraphale didn’t have that same understanding.

“Eat up,” Aziraphale said, trying to spoon a sweet potato mash into the fussy child’s mouth. He wrinkled his face and tossed his head from side-to-side, trying to wriggle his way out of the high chair.

“He’s just as stubborn as you, my angel.” Crowley pecked Aziraphale’s cheek.

“And he likes food just about as much as you.” 

Crowley reached down and dabbed at Bod’s face with a towel, “Come on, this stuff’s delicious.” Crowley took the spoon from Aziraphale and took a bite, “Mmmm. Now, let your papa feed it to you.”

That was enough apparently, and Bod began to accept the food with a relatively smaller mess than before. 

“He likes you already,” Aziraphale fussed, “I’m no good with children.”

“You’re doing great with this.”

“Oh, am I?” Aziraphale said.

“Look, I know something you’ll be even better at.”

And Crowley was right. If there was one thing Aziraphale quickly found he loved about being a father, it was reading bedtime stories. However, he had no concept of what sort of stories children enjoyed. He chose what he’d read by perusing through his library and pulling out a few of his favorites each night. 

The first time he did this, he began to read, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times -” before Crowley snatched the book right out of his hands.

“Oh, my angel…” He intoned snarkily, “You just can’t read this to Bod.”

“Why ever not? Charles Dickens is a classic-”

“He’ll be bored out of his mind. When I was Warlock’s nanny I read things like this,” Crowley miracled up The Cat in the Hat, which Bod immediately began to reach out for. Aziraphale wrinkled his nose in disgust when he opened up what could only charitably be called a book.

“How am I meant to read something that is almost entirely visual?” 

“Don’t be a snob, he’ll like it! Kids like colourful things and pictures.”

Aziraphale wouldn’t give up, book-lover that he was. At his insistence, Bod was to be raised on classic literature, though Crowley ensured that none of it was too child-inappropriate. Things like The Hobbit, The Wind in the Willows, and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. And when Aziraphale wasn’t looking, Crowley would sometimes read him something he wasn’t too fond of. Harry Potter, for instance. 

Crowley loved everything else about fatherhood too. He loved the way he could make Bod laugh by pulling silly faces and voices. He loved teaching him things. When Bod started talking, he loved how many questions he asked. In fact, he had never felt more proud.

“Daddy!” He called out.

“Yes?” Crowley responded.

“What are stars?” 

Crowley glowed, “They’re big, pretty balls of fire. Very, very far away.”

“Why are they on fire?”

“Oh… they just are, I suppose. Were made that way.”

“Who made them?”

“Lots of people, but I helped.”

“How do you make them?”

And so on. 

Well, as much as Crowley loved the idea of endless questions, after the first week or so, they became less appealing. And while he never exactly tired of answering them per se, he would sometimes set Bod down next to Aziraphale until he ran out of questions. Aziraphale never stopped answering him with the same amused tone (after all, he had 6000 years of experience dealing with endless questions).

But when he started talking, he didn’t just ask questions. Bod also had a tendency to babble to no one in particular. Crowley thought it a bit odd at first, but he told himself it wasn’t a big deal. Warlock had done that a bit too. They had active imaginations, was what Crowley read in a few parenting magazines. Imaginary friends weren’t so uncommon at this age. Besides, reading to children encourages creativity, and Aziraphale had been reading to him quite a lot. He’s just creative.

Still, something in him prickled when he saw Bod having what seemed like a full one-sided conversation. More than when Aziraphale would mumble to himself, and more than Warlock had ever spoken to any imaginary friends he might have had. Any other human would be given strange looks for such behavior, why was it okay when children did it? But neither of them thought too much of it until one particular incident.  



	5. There and Back Again

“Papa, who is that?” Bod interrupted the dramatic reading of The Hobbit. Aziraphale was a bit put out. He thought he was doing the voices rather well. 

“That is Bilbo Baggins, my boy,” Aziraphale referred to the picture in the book.

“No! Who is _that_?” He pointed to empty space in his bedroom, “Papa, tell ‘em to be quiet.”

He stared, hearing nothing. Seeing no one. He put on a worried smile, “Bod… what are you seeing?” 

“Look!” 

Aziraphale closed the book, quietly, “Why don’t we tuck you in, I’ll bet you’re feeling sleepy,”

“Too loud, Papa,”

“There’s nothing there. Just ignore it, dear. I’ll, er… I’ll have a word with Dad.” 

He put the blankets over his son and kissed him on the top of his head, “Goodnight, sleep well.”

As soon as he left the room, he rushed over to Crowley at the TV, and turned it off. Crowley sat up, “You’re done early.”

“I know - I’m worried about him.”

“Why, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know, I’m not sure…”

Crowley stood, “Just talk to me, what is it?”

Aziraphale took his hands, “He’s seeing things. Things that - that aren’t there.”

“We discussed this, children have very active imaginations-”

“No, it’s more than that. Crowley, please. Something’s wrong. He says they speak to him.”

“Right,” Crowley thought for a second, “Seeing things. That’s not normal. What do we do about that?”

“See a doctor?”

“What if he’s… I dunno, something not entirely human? He escaped a demon as a baby, what human could do that? Who could help us with that?”

“Oh right. I’ve considered that. We need someone who - oh, perhaps the witch could help us. Do you think she still lives in Tadfield?”

“I suppose we could pay her a visit,”

Aziraphale picked up Bod and carried him out to the car, where Crowley was waiting. Crowley drove much slower than he normally did whenever Bod was in the car, but especially for this trip. Within the hour, they were driving up to the town where the end of the world nearly happened, flashes of love and all.

“Hi, er, guys. Aziraphale and Crowley, right?” Anathema said as she opened the door, “Come in.”

The couple stepped into Jasmine Cottage and Crowley was holding the sleeping boy, “Sorry this was sudden. We didn’t have your phone number,” Crowley said, keeping his sunglasses close to his face and his gaze on the ground.

“No, don’t apologize, you’re always welcome to visit,” She said, “But, why are you here?” 

Aziraphale gave her a worried look, “You see, we needed some help, but we don’t like to call attention to our, er, respective natures. You understand, don’t you?” 

“Anathema? Who was that?” Newt’s voice called out from the bedroom, causing both Aziraphale and Crowley to jump. 

“We have visitors,” She yelled back.

He cautiously came into the living room in a dressing gown and pajamas, “Oh no… is the world ending again?”

Aziraphale was quick to assure them, “No, no need to worry -”

“Then why do you look so worried?” Anathema crossed her arms. 

“Our son.” Crowley added, holding out the child who was just beginning to stir, “Our son, Bod. We need someone to have a look at him.”

Anathema relaxed, and took a breath, “What’s going on with him?” She asked while she began to examine the boy, letting her eyes unfocus and take in his aura. 

Crowley placed Bod down on a chair, and turned to Anathema, “We think he’s - he’s been seeing things. Seeing people. Oh damn it, what if he has schizophrenia?”

“Unlikely,” Anathema was quick to reassure him, “I don’t think that shows up until you’re older.”

“Erm, is there anything supernatural about him?” Aziraphale asked. 

“There’s something to his aura,” Anathema said, blinking herself out of her focused state, “hard to describe accurately. I can’t really read it.”

“But is he human?” Crowley asked.

“I think so,” Anathema said, and she knelt down next to Bod, “Hey there. I’m Anathema, I’m a friend of your Dads.”

He sleepily rubbed his eyes and looked like he was ready to complain or cry, but Anathema’s friendly smile settled him down, “Anaf’ma.”

“How old are you, Bod?”

“Three.”

“Wow, you’re practically grown up already,” Anathema said, “Do you want anything to eat? We’ve got some ice cream in the freezer.”

Bod’s eyes lit up with excitement. Crowley was about to step in, before Aziraphale placed a hand on his shoulder, and gave him a look.

Crowley whispered, “Sugar? At this time of night?”

“Let him have his fun, my dear. One late night snack isn’t the end of the world.”

“Yeah, tell me that in an hour when he’s bouncing off the walls. And when he throws tantrums begging for ice cream every night.”

Anathema was already holding Bod’s hand and leading him to the kitchen, Crowley relented. 

Newt stood around, only just managing to process the scene in his living room, “A kid, huh? How did you two…?”

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a glance.

“Don’t tell me you stole him?”

Aziraphale glowered at Newt, “I am an angel, I do not like the implication-”

Crowley interrupted, “We adopted Bod. Normal, human child. Nowhere else for him to go.”

Something about the way Crowley spoke made Newt think that the adoption hadn’t been completely above board, but who could he report to? He couldn’t imagine ringing up the local bobby and telling them that an angel and a demon had run off with a child. They’d put him away.

Luckily, Anathema returned before the conversation could become too awkward. 

“Hey, guys?” She said, “I think I’ve figured out what’s wrong with Bod.”

She recounted how Bod was sitting on Anathema’s counter, kicking his legs, while she prepared a bowl of ice cream. 

“Hullo!” Bod said out of nowhere. 

“Hello,” Anathema looked up, “I’m almost done here, want some chocolate chips on top?” but she quickly realized he wasn’t talking to her. He was staring in the complete opposite direction, listening to something. 

“Bod?” She questioned.

“That’s Anaf’ma, she’s nice,”

She put down the ice cream scoop, “Who are you talking to?” 

“What’s your name?” Bod continued as if Anathema wasn’t there, and she realized what she had seen in his aura. She handed him the ice cream, let him down off the countertop, and peeked her head out to the living room.

“He’s got psychic powers.”

Crowley and Aziraphale stood up, “Dear Lord, are you sure?” Aziraphale asked, looking a bit dizzy.

“He sees ghosts, I think, he can talk to them. I had a cousin who was a medium and her aura had a similar kind of quality. How to describe it… it’s sort of inviting or approachable. It’s weird that I didn’t notice that at first.”

“That’s our fault,” Crowley said, “We made it so he’s a bit… unnoticeable. For his safety, you know.”

“Oh,” Anathema wanted to ask why he needed to be kept safe, but she kept that to herself, “If you want, I’ve got a few books on the art of mediumship.”

“That would be lovely,” Aziraphale said, “Thank you so much.” 

Crowley began to pace, “We ought to be off soon. It’s past his bedtime. Bod! Come out here.” Bod began to walk sleepily out of the kitchen.

“How far did you have to drive to get here? You can stay the night, if you want. It’s no problem.”

Aziraphale agreed, “Yes, Crowley, I’m afraid we have to chat about this whole thing. We can’t leave just yet.”

Anathema turned to her partner, “Newt, go and grab some blankets and things. I’ll be back in a second,” and both of them ran off to different corners of the cottage. 

Crowley pulled Bod up onto the couch between him and Aziraphale. He leaned against Aziraphale, already falling asleep again. He was listening to someone tell him a story that he didn’t quite understand. Something about witches. He was soon tucked into a makeshift bed on the couch, fast asleep. 

Crowley gave him one more worried look before they were ushered into the kitchen. Newt prepared coffee for all of them, and Anathema set to work digging through her pile of books and magazines for anything useful. 

“So. Our Bod’s a medium?” Aziraphale started, sipping his coffee, “I’m afraid I don’t know how to go about this.”

“He doesn’t even understand about death, I don’t think.” Crowley added. 

“What’s your cousin like?” Newt asked, “Perhaps they could speak to her.”

Anathema made a strange face, “Well… my cousin Claire actually passed away. It’s a hard life, you know. It’s isolating and stressful, being able to see the dead when no one else can.”

“Oh, I can only imagine,” Aziraphale said. His brief discorporation had given him a glimpse into just how many spirits lingered around Earth at all times, and it was shocking, to say the least. 

“Do you think he’ll grow out of it?” Crowley asked. 

“I can’t tell you. But there are some things you can do to help -”

Crowley snapped, “We’ve fucked it up, haven’t we? Not only does he have an angel and a demon for dads, he’s also got… this. How the hell is he going to grow up normal?”

Aziraphale rubbed his back gently, “Calm down, my dear. Let’s just listen to what Anathema has to tell us, then we’ll just… do what we can.”

Crowley took a few stilted breaths, “Calm down? Nah, this is all my fault -” 

“My darling, it’s not your fault at all,” Aziraphale put his arms around him, “These things happen.”

“It’s my fault. All my fault. I started reading him the Harry Potter books, full of ghosts those things -”

“You _what?_” Aziraphale glared, “No… it’s fine. Surely Harry Potter wouldn’t cause anyone to -”

But Crowley was still in his moment of panic, “I raise a kid to be the antichrist, he ends up normal. I raise a kid to be normal, he ends up some kind of psychic.”

Newt jumped in at this point, “Wait, you raised Adam?” 

“No, another antichrist.” Crowley quickly supplied, not wanting to explain the whole baby swap event that was partially his own fault. 

But Newt misunderstood and began to turn a bit pale at the thought of how many close calls the world might have had when he wasn’t paying attention, and he decided he’d had enough with the supernatural for the night, “I think I’ll… er, turn in.”

Aziraphale turned to Anathema, “Tell us everything we need to know.”

“Right. Well, first of all, don’t tell him that it’s all in his head. That’s the main thing. It’ll, you know, mess with him.”

“Oh dear. I may have done that.”

“Don’t worry,” Anathema said, “Just don’t do it anymore, okay?” 

The two dads nodded, beginning to calm down at the decisiveness of Anathema’s voice.

“You’re gonna have to chat with him about it at some point. Make sure he understands why he sees things that no one else does. But don’t put too fine a point on it, you don’t want to inadvertently isolate him even more. And it might be a good idea to get a tutor to train him to hone his abilities. I had one that helped me to see auras when I was a child. I can call around, if you like? It’s quite a rare ability, but I’m sure I’d be able to find someone.”

“That would be so very helpful of you. We are in your debt,” Aziraphale said.

Anathema soon joined her partner in bed, wishing her guests a good night. Crowley sat down on the couch and looked over his child, resting so peacefully. Just like the night Bod was found, he couldn’t keep himself awake at the stress of it all, so he laid himself down as well. The rest of the night, Crowley spent napping alongside Bod on the couch, while Aziraphale read the books Anathema had passed along to him. He took tedious notes on every detail. The cottage was quiet for several hours except for the soft scratching of Aziraphale’s pen. 

Someone knocked on the door quite early in the morning. Aziraphale was the only one awake, everyone else was having a lie-in. He took his glasses off and supposed the polite thing to do would be to answer the door. 

“Hello there,” He said, slightly taken aback by who he saw on Anathema’s doorstep.

“Hey, can I meet your kid?” Adam said.  



End file.
